"Mr. President, the Third and Fourth Divisions are almost exhausted. General Mahir—"
"What's wrong with Mahir? He's not dead yet. If he's not dead, he can keep fighting."
East of Homs City, on the street, at eleven in the morning.
When the Turkish tanks rushed into Homs City, there was no one on the streets. All the shops were shut, windows boarded up, with sandbags and cars piled on the road. The tanks crushed over the sandbags, over the cars.
People hiding in the houses started shooting. They weren't soldiers; they were militiamen. The militiamen of Homs; some are Sunni, some are Shiite, some are Christians. Usually, they hate each other, but now the Turks have come, they all hate the Turks together.
Bullets fired from the windows, hitting the tank armor and bouncing off. The gunman sprayed the windows with machine gun fire, wood splinters flying everywhere. But the people inside kept shooting.
